Inside Llewyn Davis

Directors: Joel and Ethan Coen
Starring: Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, John Goodman, Garrett Hedlund, Justin Timberlake, F. Murray Abraham, Stark Sands, Adam Driver, Max Casella, Ethan Phillips
Running Time: 105 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

The biggest surprise about Inside Llewyn Davis is just how narrow its focus is. The title should have probably been our first clue. This is a character study to the core. And it's a difficult, challenging one we should have known was coming since it's from the Coen brothers. And that will still don't see it coming is the greatest thing about it. What's surprising is just how unconventional it is, even by their standards. Anyone expecting an overview of the early 60's Greenwich Village folk scene and spoon fed warm, fuzzy feelings of nostalgia associated that period should probably search elsewhere. Which isn't to say they don't nail the time period completely in look, sound and everything else accompanying it. There is one brush with history, and while it's a big one, it's handled so nonchalantly that it hardly draws attention to itself. The Coens have nothing to prove. No one to impress. They just know exactly what they're doing, even when we haven't the slightest clue. Sometimes it's best to just trust the audience to figure things out.

Despite its subject being loosely based on late folk singer Dave Van Ronk (and his posthumously published 2005 memoir, The Mayor of MacDougal Street) this isn't Van Ronk biopic. That his ex-wife has criticized the film for being untruthful or inaccurate makes little sense considering it's not about him. By all accounts, Van Ronk was a well-liked guy with few (or any) of the problems this protagonist deals with. It's the trajectory of his career that provides the inspiration more than anything else. He's the jumping off point. Fame may have eluded him, but he wasn't a failure. Inside Llewyn Davis is all about failure and what it means. Or rather how thin the line separating failure and success can be. There were many more Dave Van Ronks than Bob Dylans, which makes one wonder if some strange combination of luck, opportunity, skill, timing or motivation caused the former to fade into obscurity while the latter became a legend? The film doesn't attempt to make sense of that because you can't. The Coens wisely choose not to try, and by doing that, somehow do.  

At one point Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) is told, rather pointedly, that he doesn't have the innate charisma or connection with the audience to ever become a successful solo act in the business. It's clearer to us even earlier that he just might not have the ability to connect with people at all in any capacity. Llewyn was one half of a semi-popular folk duo with musical partner, Mike Timlin (sung by Mumford and Sons' Marcus Mumford), who killed himself jumping off the George Washington Bridge. At this rate, he's headed in the same direction, with his life stuck in an endless loop of mooching off friends who probably should have stopped tolerating him a while ago. What's saddest and darkly comical about the situation is how talented he actually is and how little that seems to matter.

The film's opening, in which he sings a gut-wrenching rendition of "Hang Me, Oh Hang Me" at the Gaslight wins us over immediately, and we'll stay on his side even as it's clear later the lengths he'll go to squander that potential. His manager isn't paying him. His sister hates him. And now he's stuck with an orange cat belonging to his friends the Gorfeins, whose Upper West Side apartment he's just crashed at. But his most fractured relationship is with folk singer and ex-flame Jean (Carey Mulligan), who he impregnated in spite of her being married to good friend Jim (Justin Timberlake). Short on money and with a solo recording deal far out of reach, Llewyn has to choose between what he considers "selling out" to pursue a music career, or abandoning it altogether. What's so tragicomic is how he somehow finds a way to royally screw up both options. He's just one of those guys where nothing he does seems to go right no matter how hard he tries. And, admittedly, he isn't even trying very hard since he doesn't care, or maybe cares a little too much, with very few definitive actions backing it up.

It's one hilarious catastrophe after the next that leads him to desperately take Timberlake's Jim up on his invitation to join he and Al Cody (Adam Driver) to record a goofy, folk-pop song called "Please, Mr. Kennedy." A lot has already been said and written about the scene and song being the film's defining (and funniest) moment, and it is, but it's interesting to look at it from the perspective of what qualified as embarrassingly bad commercial music that appealed to the masses in the early '60's. The real irony might be that the ridiculously catchy, borderline brilliant song is about ten times better than anything that would even pass as legitimately good pop music today. It really isn't bad, but the performances from the three actors as they discuss and prepare to deliver it in the scene's context makes it seem like the silliest song ever written. In any other context, it's amazing. But Llewyn is truly mortified having to perform it, before unintentionally sabatoging what could have been his only big payout with a lack of business acumen.

As much action that takes place in a time specific New York, the strangest section of the film actually occurs on the way to Chicago, as Llewyn hitches a ride with a James Dean-like beat poet named Johnny Five (Garrett Hedlund) and his passenger, the cranky, belligerent jazz musician Roland Turner (John Goodman, in top form), who spends the entire road trip hurling insults and telling nonsensical stories. I'm guessing this is the place where the movie probably loses a lot of perplexed audience members, but anyone familiar with the Coens work will instantly recognize it as the most Coen-like part of this whole absurd, but strangely moving adventure that's brimming at the rim with eccentric characters.

The casting of Oscar Isaac was a masterstroke because we don't really know who he is and doesn't bring the baggage a bigger, more established name would. Watching him as Llewyn is like seeing (and of course listening) to him for the first time, since few are likely to even recognize the actor from his supporting roles in movies like Drive. He's the star of the show playing a depressed character who lacks the charisma and drive to ever be the star of the show. Think how difficult that must be. And yet, against all odds, he manages to make this selfish, angry guy completely likable every step of the way. There wasn't a moment I wasn't rooting for him to pull out of this rut, even as the chances of that continue to diminish with each passing disaster. And boy can Isaac ever sing. I'd say he should release a folk album but he already did. It's the soundtrack to this movie which, top to bottom, feels like a legitimate folk release from the early '60's. Everyone in this does their own singing with famed producer T-Bone Burnett again turning in revelatory work by seamlessly replicating the music of the period.

In a way, it also feels like we're discovering the better known Carey Mulligan for the first time since seeing her play a morose, angry character who curses like a sailor would seem about a thousand paces removed for her if not for the added layer of vulnerability she infuses her with. Timberlake, as usual, proves there are few limits to what he can do as a performer in any medium, as it's unlikely anyone suspected he'd be able to believably portray one half of a folk duo with Mulligan and that they'd look and sound so authentic.

"Play me something from Inside Llewyn Davis," requests record producer Bud Grossman (F. Murray Abraham) when the singer arrives to meet him in Chicago. Llewyn responds by pouring his heart out with the beautifully depressing "The Death of Queen Jane," an eerily appropriate song selection given his current state. It's only upon reflection that this becomes the most important scene of the film, likely stinging quite a bit for anyone who's suffered for their art, been judged, or faced the pain of rejection. So basically everyone. Ultimately, does it matter whether this producer thinks there's any "money" in this? Are his criticisms valid or is he just on a power trip at Llewyn's expense? One could argue that if he truly had the passion and fire in his belly to see this through then it wouldn't have mattered to him one bit what this producer thought. If he loved making music he wouldn't he continue doing it, even if it meant temporarily finding another means of income? That's the big question mark. His talent is not.

A big fuss has been made by some about how a big a jerk this character is, but so was Bob Dylan, and we liked him. So that can't be it. History is written by the winners, even if the losers are often losers for a reason. Llewyn isn't quite as unlikable as he's been accused, or even as unlikable as some of the other characters he shares this Greenwich Village universe with. He's just badly floundering. Defeated by life and himself. The film's ending (which I won't dare spoil here) almost seems like a cruel (but wickedly hilarious) cosmic joke, reminding us that sometimes it really is only about being at the right place at the right time. And a bunch of other cards lining up just right. None of them have for this guy, partially by his own doing. The film does this loopy thing with time, folding over on itself and suggesting he may never break out of this cycle, opening up what was a relatively simple story for a variety of differing interpretations.

Admittedly it takes a while for this whole experience to settle in because there's so much more going on than first appears on the surface and I'm still not sure I've processed all of it. That final scene is a real zinger. We like to be on the winning team and watching movies about success make us feel good. But the few movies made about failure usually end up being deeper and more interesting. There are a limited number of ways to achieve, but no bounds to the amount of seemingly improbable ways someone can't. Llewyn Davis has most of them covered, and in showing that, the Coens give us exactly the '60's folk film we didn't know we wanted, or even necessarily deserved.

No Country For Old Men

Directors: Joel and Ethan Coen
Starring: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Woody Harrelson, Kelly MacDonald, Garrett Dillahunt, Tess Harper, Stephen Root, Beth Grant
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R
***1/2 (out of ****)

SPOILER WARNING!!! I GIVE AWAY THE ENDING

Here’s something you may not have heard about 2007’s Academy Award winner for Best Picture No Country For Old Men: It’s absolutely terrifying. It’s also darkly humorous and gripping in the best way possible. But it’s not a masterpiece. It may not even be the Coen brothers’ best film, as I’d argue Fargo still holds that title. Like Fargo, this also deals with a stolen suitcase full of cash, but the setting and circumstances are far different. Joel and Ethan Coen have long been known for their quirky, risk-taking style as filmmakers, and while they stretch out of their comfort zone quite a bit here, this proves to be no exception. Their dedication to finding the humor in the most dire circumstances has been their calling card but has also proven to be their biggest hindrance in gaining mainstream acceptance. But here there’s no winking and it’s their most serious, dramatic effort to date, and it’s technically close to flawless. I may not think it’s as great as everyone else (or The Academy) does, but at worst, it still ranks among the year’s best efforts.

Controversy has swirled around the ending and looking at the star rating above you could probably guess where I stand on it. I understand why the Coens made the decisions they did in the final act and give them credit for making them, even if I don’t fully agree. If you’re one of the few who haven’t seen this movie yet, it’s time to be honest and admit the big reason to: Javier Bardem. I don’t think this film will be one of those Best Picture winners that have a lasting cultural impact or will even necessarily play as well on repeated viewings, as I’ve discovered already. It’ll be remembered for Bardem, who creates a character who deserves to join Darth Vader and Hannibal Lector in the pantheon of our greatest screen villains. His performance powers the film, and at times, even overpowers it.

When retired welder and Vietnam vet Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) happens to stumble upon a drug deal gone bad while hunting in the Texas desert. He discovers some dead bodies and a suitcase containing $2 million in cash, which he impulsively decides to take off with, despite the danger this poses to he and his wife, Carla Jean (Kelly MacDonald). Hot on his trail is a cold, heartless killer named Anton Chigurh (Bardem) and at times you wonder whether he’s even all that concerned about the money itself, or just the thrill of physically and psychologically intimidating anyone in his way to getting it. With his Beatles era bowl haircut and inventive cattle air gun murder weapon, he needs just a single coin flip to determine the fate of anyone he encounters. Every moment he’s onscreen and every single word Bardem emotionlessly delivers is pure terror.

He has a talk with a store clerk and you almost hope the old man doesn’t live through it so he isn’t burdened with the memory of actually having a conversation (if you can call it that) with this twisted psychopath. It’s arguably the most tension-filled scene in the entire film. Nearing retirement, seasoned Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) has uncovered this sicko’s trail of terror and is determined to reach Llewelyn and the cash before Chigurh does. So is bounty hunter Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson) who’s hired to track down the money by a businessman who had invested interest in the botched drug deal. Wells is the only man with prior knowledge of just how dangerous Chigurh is, even though he uses his witty sarcasm to downplay it. There’s edge of your seat suspense as this monster closes in on Llewelyn and although its never explicitly stated in the film you get the impression this war vet is giving Chigurh the only real fight he’s ever had.

As we head at a breakneck pace toward the big showdown the Coen brothers pull the rug out and make a brave (some would say stupid) decision to deprive us of it. Llewelyn is discarded literally and figuratively as we head toward the film’s polarizing final 20 minutes. There’s a shift to the less interesting character of Tommy Lee Jones’ Sheriff Bell. The film, set in 1980, finds a way to remain very much of that time period while still telling a story that’s just as relevant now. The Vietnam wounds are still fresh in these characters’ minds and there’s a new kind of evil emerging. It’s an evil Sheriff Bell and even his father’s generation before him couldn’t have possibly prepared for. It’s encapsulated in Anton Chigurh and Bell wants no part of it. With time passing him by and retirement on the horizon, he’s just going through the motions and would likely prefer not to come face-to-face with this monster. If he does, he’s done.

Llewelyn is also a victim, but of greed and temptation. His character is also a casualty of the changing guard and comes to represent concepts Sheriff Bell can’t really get a handle on. Everything now seems determined by fate and forces he can’t control. It’s just a matter of timing and chance that Chirgurh never does catch up with Llewelyn and even more so that Sheriff Bell narrowly avoids an encounter with Chirgurh himself that most certainly would have ended in his death. That this madman is never apprehended and walks away at the end of the film is supremely important. This psychopathic monster will live to see another day and for that the future looks bleaker than ever. The final scene of the film with Bell sitting at the table with his wife (Tess Harper) and explaining the dream he had about his father seem meant to echo the themes of fate and change that permeate through the entire film. And it ends very abruptly with the screen fading to black in almost mid-sentence.

The decision to take the story in that unconventional, anti-crowd pleasing direction makes sense given both the title of the film and the hints given by Jones’ narration at the beginning, but it can’t help but feel a little anti-climactic since we had so much invested in the two major characters and their potential face-off. I haven’t read Cormac McCarthy’s novel from which this film is based but supposedly it stays slavishly faithful to it straight up to and including the ending. If so, this may be the first case of filmmakers actually being criticized for staying too true to the source material.

While I understand the reasoning behind it and commend the Coens for refusing to give us an easy, comfortable ending, I couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that the wind was taken out of the sails of the film a little. The rest of the movie crackles with so much suspense and intensity the shift toward the end left me a little cold. Not necessarily disappointed, but more unfulfilled. I realize that was the intention behind it but in a year full of powerful finales in motion pictures, often the last thing on a viewer’s mind after they’ve seen a film is those final minutes. And even the film’s diehard supporters couldn’t argue that the last 20 minutes leave a lasting, impactful impression. It isn’t a major problem, but it is something that prevented the film from reaching the highest plateau possible for me. Everything else is perfect, especially Roger Deakins’ typically brilliant cinematography and near absence of a musical score. We’re left with only the sounds, which, in the context of this story, create a menacing horror and suspense.

Josh Brolin, capping off an incredible year, delivers a subdued performance in the classic mold of rugged screen legends like McQueen and Eastwood. His work is so quiet and pitch-perfect that amidst all the hype surrounding the movie and Bardem he kind of got lost in the shuffle, which was unfair. He makes you feel for a man who admittedly made a very selfish, stupid decision. Jones is also strong in a smaller role that grows in importance as the film wears on. He’s kind of the eyes and ears for the viewers and the moral centerpiece of the story. Scottish actress Kelly MacDonald disappears into the role of Llewelyn’s confused and naïve wife with a dead-on Southern accent while Woody Harrelson reminds us just how much more effective he is when given the right role, no matter what its size.

But the movie really belongs to Bardem, who gives a performance that has to be considered one of the strongest Academy Award winning supporting turns in years. Part of me wonders if the movie has garnered the praise it has primarily for Bardem’s performance and the big scenes that accompany it. Everyone loves an entertaining bad guy and it’s been a while since one as entertaining and as scary as Chirgurh has hit the screen. Just the opening scene alone, in which he strangles an officer to death with his handcuffs, is enough to give you nightmares for weeks. That’s not to say the film offers nothing else, but I do think everything else it offers would mean nothing if Bardem weren’t a part of it.

With No Country For Old Men The Coen brothers have finally gained well-deserved mainstream acceptance, but while doing so still managed to make a film that’s as inaccessible and challenging as anything else they’ve ever done. Continuously finding new ways to frustrate us and confound our expectations just may stand as their biggest accomplishment.